Timing may be everything in politics, but it hasn’t been kind to Russ Feingold. When the former—and perhaps future—Wisconsin senator was supporting gay marriage and railing against corporate welfare, trade deals, the Iraq War, and the Patriot Act, his was a lonely voice in the Democratic Party. And in 2010, just a few months after the Supreme Court gutted his signature legislative achievement, he faced off against a Tea Party-aligned plastics executive named Ron Johnson in the midst of a Republican wave. Feingold lost an election he surely would have won had it occurred two years earlier or later.

In announcing Thursday that he would seek a rematch against Johnson, Feingold, 62, is betting that his timing will finally be right in 2016. With Feingold’s brand of progressive populism having ripened into a consensus among Democrats, it’s a pretty decent gamble—at least as things stand a year-and-a-half out from the election. For starters, unlike in 2010 he’ll be running in a presidential-election year, and the Democratic nominee has carried Wisconsin every four years since 1984. He shouldn’t have a messy primary to win, as both the party establishment and progressive activists celebrated his entry into the race. The Senate Democrats’ campaign arm immediately endorsed him, and both the Progressive Change Campaign Committee and their favorite Democratic senator, Elizabeth Warren, sent out rapid requests for money to their email lists. Finally, while Johnson now has the advantage of incumbency, Feingold begins the race leading in the polls: A Marquette University survey last month found that the Democrat had a whopping 16-point lead over Johnson among registered voters.

Wisconsin is sometimes described as a swing state because its elections are close, but its politics tend to be more bipolar than bipartisan—deep red or deep blue, but rarely in the mushy middle. In the last six years, voters in the Badger State have elected Johnson, and backed conservative Governor Scott Walker in three elections; but they also sent liberal Tammy Baldwin to the Senate in 2012. They’ve sent Paul Ryan to Congress but rejected him as vice president, and the same Marquette poll that showed Feingold in the lead also found that Wisconsin voters support Hillary Clinton over their newly reelected governor in the presidential race.

Feingold lost to Ron Johnson in 2010. (Allen Fredrickson / Reuters)

It’s hard to believe that the national Democratic Party’s populist turn has occurred without Feingold. In embracing his candidacy, the PCCC said he would be “another bold ally” by Elizabeth Warren’s side. Yet in some ways, Feingold was Warren before Warren. When he last served in the Senate, Feingold was the only Democrat to vote against the final version of the Dodd-Frank Wall Street reform bill, saying it was too weak. Warren was then still working under President Obama to get it implemented. Now as a senator from Massachusetts, it is she who has emerged as the champion of the progressive base and the sharpest thorn in the president’s side.

As David Graham noted earlier this year, Democrats have a fresh-face problem in 2016—as in, they don’t have many of them. Clinton will most likely be leading their ticket, and some of the party’s top Senate recruits—Feingold, Ted Strickland in Ohio, Joe Sestak in Pennsylvania—are retreads. Feingold’s biggest vulnerability is that, like Clinton, he spent part of his years out of office far removed both from his home state and U.S. politics in general. In 2013, Secretary of State John Kerry sent him to Africa as his special envoy to the Great Lakes region, a post he resigned this February to prepare for the Senate run. Republicans are already tagging Feingold as out of touch, noting that although he filmed his announcement video from his Wisconsin home, he was in California teaching a college course at Stanford when it came out. (Update: Democrats said the GOP was incorrect and that while Feingold teaches his class on Wednesday evenings, he was back in Wisconsin by Thursday and tweeted a picture of himself at home.)

About the Author

Russell Berman is a senior associate editor at The Atlantic, where he covers political news. He was previously a congressional reporter for The Hill and a Washington correspondent for The New York Sun.

Most Popular

The special counsel indicted the Russian nationals and three Russian entities for allegedly interfering in the 2016 presidential election, the Department of Justice announced Friday.

On Friday, February 16, Deputy Attorney General Rod Rosentein announced that the special counsel, Robert Mueller, had indicted 13 Russian nationals and three Russian entities on charges that including conspiracy to defraud the United States, conspiracy to commit wire fraud and bank fraud, and aggravated identity theft. This is the full text of that indictment.

Students have mourned and rallied the public after the massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High that left 17 dead.

Something was different about the mass shooting this week in Parkland, Florida, in which 14 students and three adults were killed.

It was not only the death toll. The mass murder at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High became the deadliest high-school shooting in American history (edging out Columbine, which killed 13 in 1999).

What made Parkland different were the people who stepped forward to describe it. High-school students—the survivors of the calamity themselves—became the voice of the tragedy. Tweets that were widely reported as coming from the students expressed grief for the victims, pushed against false reports, and demanded accountability.

Outrage mobs are chipping away at democracy, one meaningless debate at a time.

The mob was unusually vociferous, even for Twitter. After the California-born ice skater Mirai Nagasu became the first American woman to land a triple axel at the Olympics, the New York Times writer Bari Weiss commented “Immigrants: They get the job done.”

What followed that innocuous tweet was one of the sillier, manufactured controversies I have ever seen on Twitter. Twitter’s socially conscious denizens probably only realized they should be outraged at Weiss after they saw other people being outraged, as is so often the case. Outside of Twitter, some of Weiss’s Times colleagues were also offended by the tweet—and even hurt by it. The critics’objection was that Nagasu isn’t herself an immigrant, but rather the child of immigrants, and so calling her one was an example of “perpetual othering.”

Tech analysts are prone to predicting utopia or dystopia. They’re worse at imagining the side effects of a firm's success.

The U.S economy is in the midst of a wrenching technological transformation that is fundamentally changing the way people sleep, work, eat, shop, love, read, and interact.

At least, that’s one interpretation.

A second story of this age of technological transformation says that it’s mostly a facade—that the last 30 years have been a productivity bust and little has changed in everyday life, aside from the way everyone reads and watches videos. People wanted flying cars and got Netflix binges instead.

Let’s call these the Disrupt Story and the Dud Story of technology. When a new company, app, or platform emerges, it’s common for analysts to divide into camps—Disrupt vs. Dud—with some yelping that the new thing will change everything and others yawning with the expectation that traditionalism will win out.

The Harvard law professor Lawrence Lessig discusses how Aaron Swartz's death shaped his own life's work.

Before he started working with Aaron Swartz, the Harvard law professor Lawrence Lessig built his professional life around internet law and copyright policy. In the early 2000s, Lessig was at the top of his academic field, then working at Stanford. As an undergraduate student, Swartz, who had met Lessig at a computer conference when he was just 14, convinced the professor to radically change his career path.

The two developed a mentorship and partnership that would lead them to take on the complex goals of making information more accessible and demanding greater transparency from political institutions. Swartz became known for his involvement in Creative Commons and Reddit, and for his alleged attempt to make information from the academic-research site JSTOR free for public viewing. And then, in January of 2013, Swartz committed suicide. Lessig is still reeling from the loss.

The clear goal of the special counsel is to speak to the American public about the seriousness of Russian interference.

With yet another blockbuster indictment (why is it always on a Friday afternoon?), Special Counsel Robert Mueller has, once again, upended Washington. And this time, it is possible that his efforts may have a wider effect outside the Beltway.

For those following the matter, there has been little doubt that Russian citizens attempted to interfere with the American presidential election. The American intelligence agencies publicized that conclusion more than a year ago in a report issued in January 2017, and it has stood by the analysis whenever it has been questioned. But some in the country have doubted the assertion—asking for evidence of interference that was not forthcoming.

Now the evidence has been laid out in painful detail by the special counsel. If any significant fraction of what is alleged in the latest indictment is true (and we should, of course, remind ourselves that an indictment is just an allegation—not proof), then this tale is a stunning condemnation of Russian activity. A Russian organization with hundreds of employees and a budget of millions of dollars is said to have systematically engaged in an effort (code named “Project Lakhta”) to undermine the integrity of the election and, perhaps more importantly, to have attempted to influence the election to benefit then-candidate Donald Trump. Among the allegations, the Russians:

The director Ryan Coogler's addition to the Marvel pantheon is a superb genre film—and quite a bit more.

Note: Although this review avoids plot spoilers, it does discuss the thematic elements of the film at some length.

After an animated introduction to the fictional African kingdom of Wakanda, Black Panther opens in Oakland in 1992. This may seem an odd choice, but it is in fact quite apt. The film’s director, Ryan Coogler, got his start in the city, having been born there in 1986. His filmmaking career has its roots there, too, as it was the setting for his debut feature, Fruitvale Station.

A bunch of schoolboys (a fictionalized young Coogler perhaps among them) play pickup hoops on a court with a milk-crate basket. But in the tall apartment building above them two black radicals are plotting a robbery. There’s a knock on the door and one of the men looks through the peephole: “Two Grace Jones–lookin’ chicks—with spears!” I won’t recount the rest of the scene, except to note that the commingling of two very different iterations of the term “Black Panther”—the comic-book hero and the revolutionary organization, ironically established just months apart in 1966—is in no way accidental, and it will inform everything that follows.

Like it or not, the middle class became global citizens through consumerism—and they did so at the mall.

“Okay, we’ll see you in two-and-a-half hours,” the clerk tells me, taking the iPhone from my hand. I’m at the Apple Store, availing myself of a cheap smartphone battery replacement, an offer the company made after taking heat for deliberately slowing down devices. A test run by a young woman typing at a feverish, unnatural pace on an iPad confirms that mine desperately needed the swap. As she typed, I panicked. What will I do in the mall for so long, and without a phone? How far the mall has fallen that I rack my brain for something to do here.

The Apple Store captures everything I don’t like about today’s mall. A trip here is never easy—the place is packed and chaotic, even on weekdays. It runs by its own private logic, cashier and help desks replaced by roving youths in seasonally changing, colored T-shirts holding iPads, directing traffic.

The company’s unusual offer—to give employees up to $5,000 for leaving—may actually be a way to get them to stay longer.

On Monday, Amazon reportedly began a series of rare layoffs at its headquarters in Seattle, cutting several hundred corporate employees. But this week, something quite different is happening at the company’s warehouses and customer-service centers across the country: Amazon will politely ask its “associates”—full-time and part-time hourly employees—if they’d prefer to quit. And if they do, Amazon will pay them as much as $5,000 for walking out the door.

Officially called “The Offer,” this proposition is, according to Amazon, a way to encourage unhappy employees to move on. “We believe staying somewhere you don’t want to be isn’t healthy for our employees or for the company,” Ashley Robinson, an Amazon spokesperson, wrote to me in an email. The amount full-time employees get offered ranges from $2,000 to $5,000, and depends on how long they have been at the company; if they take the money, they agree to never work for Amazon again. (The idea for all this originated at Zappos, the online shoe retailer that Amazon bought in 2009.)

Leggings and yoga gear are common sights at practice rinks. But in competition, gender-coded costumes still prevail.

Last weekend, one of the buzzier stories out of the Olympic ladies’ figure skating short program competition was one you might call … surprisingly surprising. The French figure skater Maé-Bérénice Méité made headlines: for the fact that she skated to a Beyoncé medley, and even more so, for the fact that she did it in pants.

More accurately, she did it in a bedazzled black unitard, but that didn’t stop news outlets and viewers on Twitter from pointing out Méité’s eye-catching, subtly subversive pants. “This French figure skater may not have won a medal, but her pants took people's choice,” raved Yahoo! News, and AOL named Méité’s bodysuit to its list of “most dazzling figure skating outfits” of these Olympic Games.